Absolution
by MamaBearCancer
Summary: Castiel is in a very dark place, how can he save his friends? (Spoiler: It's not what you think!) This story is set in A/U but more or less follows most canon. No slash. (Sorry!) Lots of hurt/comfort. This is my second work of fanfiction. Please enjoy and leave feedback! Thank you!
1. Chapter 1

Prologue

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Blackened singed feathers, some still bearing cherry hot red edges, rained down upon the earth. Like a flock of blackbirds descending down on a field of insects, they covered the land in a fluttering madness. The acrid air burned anything with lungs who was unfortunate enough to still be inhaling.

A singular figure stood alone. His features blurred and shifted in and out of focus. Head bowed, he seemed to gain more substinece, as a single tear rolled down his face. A diamond in a coal mine, the tear left a trail as it passed over the refined features of his visage. Cutting down and through the charcoal smudges passing through cracks and crevices of his worn face it traveled onward. Eventually it reached the pinnacle of his chiseled chin the tear made it's leap of sacrifice, as it fell down from flesh to ground.

His eyes, the color of dawn on the coldest day of winter, stared out across the decimated landscape. Odors of burning flesh and sulphur assaulted him as his gaze traveled all edges of the horizon. What may have been, was now completely undone. The world was crispy black, smoldering; lost. Not a single solitary tree or structure remained. The entire landscape was dead. The only promise that remained was the vast open sky. What once was diminished by the pollution of artificial man made light now shone clear and bright as on their first night of creation. The stars. Thousands of stars now illuminated this forsaken little sphere of earth. Their cool blue light, so quiet, so absolute, shimmered down creating a soft echo on his shoulders.

Cherried ashes carried on the wind swirled and danced in patterns around his bare feet. He looked down at his hands. Big strong hands. He should have been able to hold them, save them, keep them tight to his chest. He looked closely at the char, the dust, the blood caked into his palms, tightly tucked into the wrinkles and ridges of his knuckles. Oh how he tried. How he desperately clutched at their souls.

Souls so precious, so bright and brilliant. Many kingdoms had risen and fallen by the quest of the soul. The quest for power, control, spiritual conquest had claimed untold multitudes of human beings over eternity. Mere mortals were not alone in their greed and war for the human soul. Angels, demons, Gods and devils alike shared too their lust for control and power.

Of all the souls and all the battles, only two souls really mattered to him. It should have been simple to hold onto two souls. Why wasn't he able to keep them safe? Why did he screw up again? It did not matter how many times he went back and tried to fix it, the outcome was the same. It all ended there, with their ashes in his hands.

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Chapter One

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"Don't walk away from me dammit." Dean sputtered as he flung his arms out wide. Beer spilled down from the mouth of the bottle as he swung his hand back down towards his chest.

"I'm serious Cass! If you walk away now, don't bother fluttering your feathery ass back you son of a bitch!" He jeered, his speech slightly slurred and husky. Flinging the bottle up to his lips, he took a long pull, his adam's apple bobbed up and down in rhythm with his gulps.

"Dean you're drunk." Castiel eyes flared and crackled with blue electric glow.

Dean spun around, throwing the bottle hard. Shards of glass exploded onto the wall as the bottle shattered into a thousand pieces. Beer stained the garish hotel wallpaper when the bottle shattered, leaving a long streaking pattern like amber rain. "And what about it, Cass. Who cares? In the grand scheme of things, what the hell does it matter that I drunk right now?"

"Don't you think you owe it to your brother to be out there looking for him? He would look for you Dean. He _did_ look for you when the situation was reversed." He spoke and placed his hand on Dean's shoulder.

Castiel should have expected it.

Deans fist came flying up at at his face and squarely caught him in his jaw. The force of the blow rocked him back on his heels. If he had been less angel and more human he was quite certain that a tooth would have been removed from his throbbing gum line. As it was, a thin trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth and slowly dripped down his chin. Dean may be just a man but the Mark of Cain had changed him, twisted him like a dark thorny vine. Mark aside, his conviction alone fueled that punch with enough force to knock an angel off balance.

Dean clenched and unclenched his fist. He shook hand like a dog shaking off water and tried to relieve the pain in his knuckles. Cursing under his breath. "Punching your face is like punching a God damn brick wall Cass."

Castiel looked wounded, "Let me," he reached out his hand and took Deans hand into his own.

Dean pulled his hand back, "No, dammit, I don't want your help! Don't you get that? My busted hand? Losing Sammy? My fault! My fault and _my fault _alone. You can't fix everything Cass with just a wave of your magic wand!" He staggered back and sat down on the bed. The mattress made a sound of protest as if the weight of the world had just been dropped on it's rusting springs. His hand swiped away at the annoying tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

Castiel moved closer, braving and bracing himself for another physical outburst. "Dean… I uh, look, I understand." His voice echoed both sadness and frustration, "Can't you believe that by now? After all these years? I'm trying to help you Dean, can't you let me help you?"

Dean propped his elbows on his knees and lowered his head into his hands and let out a long shuddering exhale. His knuckles were bruised, his hair was a complete mess and there were wrinkles now on his careworn face. Castiel couldn't help but notice how aged his friend looked. How vulnerable he seemed. Dean would never let anyone know the depth of his troubles, of his secret despair but Castiel knew. He knew beyond the tough guy facade underneath the slumped broad shoulders of this aging man hid a small boy. A small boy who so desperately needed his father so many years ago and lacking such took up his mantle, his crusade. A boy who became a man much too early foregoing any childhood innocence and joy to raise his brother in place of his absentee father.

This was whom Castiel saw tonight on that dirty motel bed. Not the tough guy Dean Winchester proclaimed to be.

His voice was breaking "Cass…," he lifted his green water filled eyes, "It's impossible. I'm lost. I don't even know where to begin anymore." He lowered his gaze again, "What do I do?"

Castiel sat down on the bed next to him. "You are not lost, I am here with you."

"But I feel so used up Cass," he turned his head away from his friend, "I've given so much, what more can I do? What more do I have left?" His voice was barely a whisper, " I thought this was all over man. I mean I know that Sam, you and I could never have a normal life,"his voice broke, "I know that. But I never thought we'd be in this position again." He took a long pause…" I'm growing old Cass. I'm not the young man I used to be," his eyes darkened, "I am tired."

Dean stood and paced over to the window, using his rugged fingers, he carefully pushed the rough, thick curtains aside. A shaft of fading golden orange street light illuminated his face through the crack.

Castiel looked thoughtfully up at his friend, "Dean you know this isn't the end. We'll find him."

In the distance a car was pulling into the motels parking lot. The headlights momentarily brightened the room and Dean squinted his eyes against the sudden intrusive light.

"Where is God Castiel?" He breathed in deeply, "Did you know Sammy used to pray?" he questioned as continued to gaze out the dirty windowpane.

"He still does." The angel answered.

Dean let the curtain slip from his fingers and turned, allowing his eyes to readjust to the darkened room. "Is he praying now?"

Castiel looked sad. His blue eyes now much calmer looked up at him, "No, I wish that he was. It would be so much easier to locate him."

"What did I do wrong?" Dean spoke softly, childlike as he walked over to the table and poured himself a shot of bourbon. With practiced ease he lifted the glass to his lips and let the familiar burning liquid drain down his throat. "Why did he leave this time?"

Carefully he set the glass down and steadied himself against the table. It felt as if his entire world was shaking, falling down and his legs felt off balance. However it was immediately apparent that it wasn't just his legs trembling, it was the entire room. Cheap cardboard pictures on the wall shuttered and rattled from side to side. Empty beer bottles fell from the table and clattered down onto the floor while his shot glass vibrated and the whiskey sloshed wildly in the bottle.

He spun around to face Castiel "What is going on?" he shouted as a familiar high pitched, terrible sound began to fill the room drowning out his question. The TV turned itself on and the white noise flickering on the screen grew into a sicking cacophony of pain and Dean covered his ears in vain as he collapsed to the floor.

A brightness filled the room with a hot white light that Dean could not bear as he buried his face into the musty, filthy motel carpet. He could taste blood. The metallic thick liquid was filling his mouth and he couldn't breath.

Castiel leap up and covered Dean with his own body. He extended his ethereal wings and cocooned his friend, shielding him from the Archangel.

"Michael! You cannot have him! You could not have him then and _you will not_ have him now!" Castiel roared as he hovered protecting his friend.

The sound and light intensified breaking every piece of glass in the room and shards upon shards of glass stormed down blasting into them as they huddled on the dirty floor.

Dean rattled out one last hitching, blood filled breath. His arms and body relaxed as warm darkness enveloped him.


	2. Chapter 2

_Authors Note: Many thanks to SammiePhillips for her review of the first chapter! - Hang on to your butts folks, the road is about to get bumpy!_

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**Chapter 2.**

"Dean! Noooo!" Sam wailed with grief as his broken body fell to the dirty sidewalk. The rough concrete met his chin and cheek like a kiss from a Mack truck. His lungs let out a deep huff as the wind was forcefully knocked out of his chest.

Dean was on the ground not ten feet away from him and yet the distance may have well been ten miles. His body was failing him. His lungs were burning, aching, smoldering in pain. Each breath became sheer torture as if tiny shards of glass rattled inside his windpipe. He clawed his nails desperately into the ground trying to seek any purchase his broken fingers would afford him as he dragged along, inch by sickening inch. A warm, wet, spreading sensation made the ground sticky and a sickening pit was forming in his stomach as the realization hit him, he was dying.

"Sammy…" Dean husked as he turned his head to see his brother collapsed on the ground. His arms were outstretched, his fingers bloody and mangled. It was becoming so hard to see, the darkness was closing in on the edges of his vision like a vignette from some old timey black and white film. "_What a crappy flick."_ he mused. Blinking his eyes, squeezing them tightly shut, he prayed this was just a bad dream and when he reopened his eyes it wouldn't be real. But when he reopened them and focused on the desperation in Sams face. He accepted that it was real, all too real.

They were dying.

Sam lifted his head up just enough so he could lock eyes with his brother. But he was so weak, so very tired. "_I just need to rest for just one moment.." _he thought to himself. His chin sank down lower and he rested it on the cold hard sidewalk. A thin trickle of blood dripped down his forehead, muddying his hair as it followed the lines of his face, flowing to the ground. His pupils grew wider and darker as his eyelids closed ever so slightly. As if in a dream, his head slowly shifted sideways and rested quietly on the ground.

"Sammy, Sa...Sam, no Sammy…" Dean coughed, choking on an enormous flow of blood escaping his lips.

"Sammy please no, please don't go, don't leave me…" he whimpered. He tried moving his arm closer to his brother, "_I can do this, I can get to him, it will be alright, I can do this, I will get to him...it will…" _his mind raced.

"Hey Dean." a familiar almost musical voice spoke. It was a voice he had not heard in a very, very long time.

Weakly he turned his head and looked up.

"Tessa…" he breathlessly moaned, so softly, so gently, and his body relaxed. He let go.

He felt the electricity of her touch as she stroked his face with her petal soft hand. Not a painful biting electrical pulse but a pleasurable ripple of the hurts of a thousand years being erased. Her beautiful dark hair blew gently in a whisper of a breeze as she smiled down at him. He could feel his soul rise up and glow hot, glow bright as the sun.

Suddenly a hand reached out and grabbed her wrist.

"No!" Castiel shouted as he pulled the reaper back from Deans body.

Tessa shrank back, jerking her wrist free from Castiels grip.

"Castiel," she paused. "Castiel, he's gone. They both are."

Castiels knees felt weak and he collapsed down beside them. He barely perceived the pain as his knees slammed down into the hard grizzled ground. Tiny pebbles dug their way into his kneecaps, cutting through the thin material of his slacks but he noticed not. What is the worth of a pebble when valued against the weight of the world. For in that very moment, his world, in Castiels world, the world had stopped.

Flinging his arms out widely to the sky, his eyes wild with grief, Castiel broke. His soul shattered into thousands upon thousands of pieces. He placed his hands on Dean. "Come on Dean," more exasperation "DEAN please!" But try as he might his angel powers were not working. His eyes glowed with the fire of a thousand blue stars. His hands burned with the power of creation as he laid them upon Dean's chest. Yet Dean would not stir and in his panic he fell over towards Sam. His blood was still warm, so very warm and slippery beneath his fingertips as he clutched at his chest, "Sammy! Wake up! I command you to heal!" he shrieked in inconsolable sobs. "I am an angel of the Lord and I command you both to heal! You hear me? I command you!" His hitching breaths expressing the sorrow of a thousand ages as he wept beside his best friends.

"It won't work Cass." Tessa spoke softly and so matter a factly. "They both chose to go this time. They don't want to come back."

Castiel was back up in a fraction of a heartbeat. His form shimmered into substance behind her, his angel blade pressed hard against her throat as his free arm gripped around her tightly.

"You will bring them back right now God Dammit." Castiel's voice cracked.

"You know I cannot." and she faded out of his arms and disappeared.

Castiel staggered back, his arms fell limply at his sides as the angel blade clattered to the ground. His shoulders slumped and he stood as a man, an angel totally defeated.

He wept as he had never wept before. Rain from the heavens began to fall almost in sympathy for his tears. The raindrops fell harder and harder as his desperation grew into a palpable force sorrow. Pink water, with thick swirls of blood flowed around his feet as he turned his face to the rolling clouds.

"Why have you forsaken me!" he shrilled at the sky.

His hands reached up and grabbed at his hair and he tugged at the madness, the insanity of it all.

* * *

"_He's not going to wake up is he?" _

"_I don't know what you expected me to do. He's an Angel for Christs sake. I don't know their inner workings." _

"_The fuck you don't. You'd better figure it out Crowley or I swear God…"_

"_You swear what dimwit? What exac…"_


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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"Castiel you know you cannot do that." Hannahs stern voice behind him surprised him and he jumped like a piece of bread popping up out of a toaster.

He rolled his eyes and his gruff voice huffed "Hannah."

"I didn't mean to startle you but you have to admit you've been easily distracted lately. You are always watching those two humans. The garrison," she paused, tongue behind her teeth, " is starting to ask questions." Her pale eyes drifted towards his eyes as she tried to gage his reaction.

Her face was soft and careworn. She might put on a tough show but beneath that hard boiled exterior, hidden like a jewel, was one of heavens most empathetic souls. She worried deeply for Castiel. Her human vessels emotions often tangled with her own and she found herself wondering what could be if they chose to fall, to choose a mortal life. It was becoming more and more difficult to know who she was anymore. But no, she couldn't allow herself to continue with these sort of...betraying thoughts.

Hannah wasn't that type of angel. Her sense of duty, her sense of loyalty to the hosts of heaven was much too great to spend time on such flights of fancy.

She knew Castiel had been mortal once. Fully mortal. He was subject to all the frailty and suffering that humanity afforded him. But she also knew what joy, pain and simple pleasure, _human_ pleasure it brought him. Castiel embraced his humanity and emotion in a way she never would nor could. He would freely choose a mortal life if he given a chance. If not for his commitment to protect those humans, Dean and Sam Winchester.

"Your grace is failing Castiel." She reminded him, not that he needed any reminding. Every moment of every day he could feel it leaving him, wisp by silvery wisp.

"Very astute. Hannah." His eyes flared.

She took a deep, steadying breath, "Keladrial has offered himself in sacrifice. He feels it's his duty, his calling to serve you and give his all to you for the cause. Please let…" her words were cut off abruptly as Castile stepped forward and slapped her across her face. Her eyes grew wide as saucers for a brief moment before she dropped her brows into a scowl. How dare he?

"No." His hands dropped and clenched into fists by his sides. "I'm sorry Hannah. You know I cannot accept such a "gift.." the word "gift' rolled off his tongue in such a manner as if he'd bitten into a rotten piece of fruit. "I will never accept another angels grace. Never."

In the distance, grey churning clouds were rolling over landscape casting a desperate, uneasy mood across the land. A hue of dissonance and grief colored their faces and was as palpable as the thrumming of the thunder in their ears.

Hannah's eyes were wet with tears, "Castiel, what do you want us to do? What do you want _me_ to do? Her sadness grew into anger, "We," she emphasized, " won't let you fade away just because your human pets will someday." Her tone was off putting, and dare say the "not so cryptic message" behind those words was... troubling.

* * *

"Bloody Hell! For the last time boys, I don't know what the fuck is wrong with him!" Crowleys eyes glinted with a hint of red as he defiantly stared down the Winchester brothers. "You can keep asking me seven ways from Sunday and I'm not going to be able to give you the answer you seek."

"Bullshit," Dean growled. "Look we may have been _buddies_ once," he clenched his teeth, "but when it comes down to it, you're just a damn demon. A rotten, belly to the ground, demon. You have never looked out for anything but your own hide."

Exasperated Crowley hung his head down and started at the floor. It was decorated in the prettiest damn demon trap he'd laid eyes upon. A slow smirk formed at the corners of his mouth, barely perceptible but none the less there.

"What are you grinning about?" Sam asked stepping slightly closer to make absolutely certain Crowley wasn't about to pull some kinda fast one on them.

"Oh nothing _Moose_," Crowley rolled his pet name for Sam off his tongue like a serpent, enjoying the disgusted look on the taller brothers face, "I was just admiring your handy work here on the floor. Taken a few art classes down at the community college since the last time you summoned me eh?" His shy grin widened.

As expected, the resulting blow to his face echoed a crunching, sickening sound on the abandoned warehouse walls. Undaunted he spat out a lump of metallic tasting, bloody spit at Sams shoes.

"Hope that hurt your hand you neanderthal." Crowley giggled childlike, his eyes shining up at the large and very anger Winchester.

Sams fist clinched again as he pulled his arm back and growled, "Crowley! I'm going..."

Dean reached over and grabbed his brothers arm, stopping him mid sentence. "Stop it, both of you!"

Sam tugged, trying to break free of his grip, "He's fucking _giggling_, Dean. _Giggling_ at us. You get that right?" He plaintively looked at his older brother. Dean nodded. "Yah, I get it but listen, we've gotta figure something out here."

Reluctantly Sams body relaxed and Dean released his grip, as his brother stepped back, distancing himself from the temptation. Dean knew Sammy understood, they _had_ to work with Crowley, like it or not. He ran his hands down his face in a futile attempt to wipe away the frustration, "Look, you know we have to find a solution. Castiel can't continue on like this forever and I know you need him as much as we do."

Crowley seemed to ponder the statement, his face full of amusement and wonder. How splendid it must be for the WInchesters to work with him again. Especially now, after all that nasty Mark of Cain business.


End file.
